So I haven't blogged in a while...and I'm sad to say, I will be hanging up my keyboard for the time being. It seems that there are many other things in life that require my full attention, and while I love writing (and receiving comments!), I need to focus on other matters.

I will probably post the occasional Bear picture from time to time, but that's all.

It's Friday night. Brian went out with some work friends. I encouraged him to do this; we all need a night off. In fact, I told him to stay past dinner. Have dessert. Have an after-dinner cocktail. Or two. Have a GOOD time that doesn't involve me crying or the Bear fussing.

Am I the best wife ever? Sadly, no. Secretly, I had my own agenda: read my recently purchased books. No husband = no TV, no conversation, and once the baby goes to bed, a luxurious amount of time I can spend stretched out on the couch, drinking wine and reading. Ahhh......(imagine me stretching my arms over my head, grinning)....heaven.

And only one book was cut out for a night as special as this: yes, 'Committed,' by Elizabeth Gilbert. Actually, let me clarify this and say, one specific chapter in her book: Marriage and Women. I have been enjoying the book all week, but I knew this chapter was going to need some serious TLC; reading paragraphs between Scotty's naps while the Today Show blared on the TV was not going to cut it. No, this chapter insisted on a quiet house, some candlelight, a nice glass of Zin, and my favorite couch blanket.

And it has not disappointed. I am about 1/2 through the chapter and I finally - FINALLY - feel like someone has put my disorganized thoughts and convoluted feelings into coherent sentences. Let's just say the quote at the beginning of the chapter reads, " Today the problem that has no name is how to juggle work, love, home and children." Betty Friedan, The Second Stage. Oh, you've got my interest, right there.

See, all of this started about six weeks ago. After watching an episode of Oprah about the treatment of women ("Half the Sky") in other parts of the women, Brian came home to find me crying and pissed off. At him. (poor guy. I once had a scary dream during my pregnancy that he was cheating on me with Playboy bunnies and I didn't talk to him for three days. He kept saying, "But it didn't even happen! It was a DREAM!" and I just ignored him and scowled.) During this particular time, Brian found me angrily cooking dinner, muttering under my breath about the recipe entailed to oppress a woman: marry her and get her pregnant. Easy as pie. Because if a woman has to take care of someone else, she cannot and will not take care of herself.

Again, I want to point out: yes, I got married on my own volition and we quite rightly had Scotty out of choice and deep desire. However, the numerous changes in my life - closing my practice, going on bed rest, having a gigantic child that refused to latch on and yet still believing in the benefits of breast milk that forces me to pump six to eight times a day, and subsequently staying at home - left me feeling unappreciated and vaguely angry. But I couldn't quite pinpoint why or how - after all, I "get" to stay home, I should be happy - even lucky! But I was feeling so bummed. On top of that, I was feeling guilty for not counting my blessings. All of those icky feelings wouldn't go away.

Enter the lovely Ms. Gilbert. She, in the fifty pages of this chapter I've managed to read so far - has pretty much validated my feelings and taken it one step farther: she recognizes that the sacrifices of mothers may benefit the family as a whole, but rarely benefit the individual (i.e. the mother). Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don't know why, but just seeing that in print - it's not like anything is changing in my life - made me feel better. I've really been wrestling with the whole "Where does 'the family' end and Kim begin?" question and have not come up with many answers. I do not want to be one of those women who sacrifice their entire identities to raise children, only to one day wake up and be 55 with no children at home and absolutely no clue who I am or what I want out life. Yet, I also don't want to miss out of my child's life, thus bringing me (and countless other women) to the greatest conundrum our gender will ever face: how do you maintain a healthy family life and raise happy, well-adjusted children without losing yourself in the process?

And I don't think I can answer that. At least, not yet (or maybe ever). She also goes on to highlight that a woman's, more so than a man's, sense of integrity is entwined with \the ethic of care. This explains why women will turn up their noses at other women whom they believe to be inferior mothers. This certainly helps to explain the pressure to breastfeed in our society (and the shame that results when breast feeding is not successful.) This probably also explains why, six to eight times a day, I put plastic cups on my poor, sad boobs and suck out yet another three or four ounces. My self-worth is wrapped up in my child's care. If he suffers, I suffer. Brian doesn't but I do.

Argh! Is this making sense? It's late, I'm tired, and my wine glass is looking strangely empty. All I know is that this whole 'motherhood' thing is a lot more complicated that previously anticipated. I mean, prior to Scotty's conception and arrival, I was all USWeekly about it. Cute clothes! Green nursery! Trendy stroller! No, folks, it much more serious than that. It's like, all emotional and stuff.

At Scotty's last ped appointment, Dr. Awesome told me to hold off on starting rice cereal until he was at least six months old. I'm certainly in no hurry to start solids, so I was okay with this. She felt as though rice cereal helps to bulk up smaller babies (not necessary in this case) and it can sometimes have constipating effects, which is not a good thing for seldom-pooping child.

Based on everything I've read, delaying solids until 6 months is ultimately a good thing. It lessens the chance of developing allergies and besides, most babies still lack the digestive enzymes it takes to process foods appropriately. Scotty is still getting breast milk, so I feel as though we have really stacked the odds in his favor to minimize the chances for potential digestive issues in the future.

Not to mention, logistically, solids are a whole new ball game. We have to set up the high chair (thus meaning we need to find a new home for one of our dining room chairs), I have to re-schedule his feedings, and yes, because I'm that mom, I need to learn how to make my own baby food. (why can't I ever do anything simply? I'm not even going to fight myself on this one; I'm just going to submit. Cue the steamer and food processor.) I wasn't sure how or when to introduce solids into Scotty's daily life (does it take over a feeding? Is it considered a meal? Dessert? How much do I actually offer him?), but with almost a month to prepare, I'm confident I can figure it out.

A few weeks ago, I was reading my baby tome "Baby 411" in bed one night when Brian came up. He asked what I was reading about.

"Solids," I replied.

'Why are you reading about salads?" he asked innocently.

I guess my Chicago accent kicked in again after our brief trip back to the Midwest. :-)

No sooner did I post about my new books and guess what? Our dear Bear launched an all-offensive sleep strike. It's almost as though he sensed my excitement and felt the need to quash it, immediately.

His new favorite thing to do is sleep for ten minutes, be cheerful for about 20 minutes, turn into screaming/nasty baby for 20 minutes, and then pass out again. This means every forty to fifty minutes (during the day), he is sleeping. Think about this: it is nearly impossible to get ANYTHING accomplished when you literally have about ten minutes on your hands, max. I feel like banging my head against the wall out of sheer frustration. It was so bad that this morning, I was already crying even BEFORE Brian left for work (I can usually hold it together until at least 10am, when I see the sink full of dirty bottles and my breast pump, sitting next to the couch, just smirking at me). Brian had a morning breakfast meeting and I think my tears scared him so much that he actually came home after the meeting (and scared the beejeezus out of me) and brought me bacon. Aw, so sweet. Bacon makes everything better.

I have mentally been composing a blog in my head for the last few weeks about the joys and trials of being a stay-at-home mom...I don't mean to open a can of worms, since I know the topic is very, very controversial, but I really can't figure out what is better: staying at home or working. I think working moms have a greater appreciation for their babies since they are so excited to see them at the end of the day. But staying at home certainly is no picnic, either, and I feel like I am Bear-ed-out by about 6pm. Don't get me wrong...I feel so lucky to be able to stay at home, but my goodness, it never, EVER, ever EVER ends. Bear this, Bear that...all Bear, all the time. And if Scotty is sleeping, it usually means Brian's home. So when exactly do I get Kim time? Not like going to work sounds any better, but at least you can go out to lunch with co-workers without having to tote a 35 lb car seat and worry about the baby waking up during lunch, thus meaning you eat yet another meal cold.

I don't know...it's a lot to think about. Either you slice it, it seems like children are just lots of work, whether you are home with them all day or not.

I have books to review! Really, truly! The blog will live up to its name, finally! It only took about five months to get back on track.

The books, however, are not yet read....give me about a week or two. Scotty and I hit our local Borders today, and my cart screamed, "New mom, mid-life crisis, and just a little curious." It contained:

"Committed" by Elizabeth Gilbert, famed author of one of my favorite books of all time, "Eat, Pray, Love." I like to call it literary Xanax.

"Nuture Shock" by Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman. An in-depth look at cultural truths that may or may not be valid. Subjects covered: praise = higher self-esteem; aggressive kids, acquisition of language (a personal pet subject that I adore), and lying in children.

"The Tipping Point," by Malcolm Gladwell. Again, I am a curious looky-loo...I love a good book that delves into analysis of cultural phenomenons. (I read 'Outliers' in December 2008 and highly recommend it.) I don't really always care about the what...but I sure love a good story about the how.

And then I bought a bunch of board books for the Bear.

So, YAY! I am super excited about my purchases. I love good research sandwiched between a compelling story (thank you, Elizabeth Gilbert) and just some delicious, hearty research stats. If we lived in a more academic town, I would totally be one of those mothers that offered her child to Psychology experiments (not the scary ones, but the safe ones). Give me a two-way mirror any day and I'm happy as a clam.

And yes, I saw the Bachelor last night but am still mentally composing my review. I will say this: I was about to give up on the show after Jake turned into a complete and total baby during the bungee jump. Seriously, dude? My five-month old baby just did the same thing (crying, burying his head in my neck) when I tried to put him to bed. I really don't want to watch a 30-something pilot turn into a whimpering bag of jelly. But then he totally redeemed himself by calling Elizabeth out on her game playing (woot!) and then KICKING her off of the show (!!). You go, Jake! That took some major cajones. And thus, I am addicted again.

Reviews coming soon! So excited! Maybe I won't blather on about Motherhood for the rest of eternity and will regain some semblance of normalcy in the near future...

Actually, there are SO many more things that are better…I’m not a huge football fan to begin with, and football with a baby? Not so much. As I described to dear friend Courtney, going to a football game is like a max 7 on the Fun Scale (from one to ten). Seven is the highest the scale goes when sports are involved. And, as I mentioned, throw in a baby and you have an automatic minus ten. So really, on the Fun Scale, we are looking at a maximum of -3 total points. Not good, friends, not good.

And yet, it was a surprisingly enjoyable weekend. I do have to offer this caveat, though, in the spirit of honesty - the weekend had nothing to do with fun or football. It was fun because it was a success. And success is defined as 'we survived and the child slept.' I remember when fun was defined as something else...something much truer to the actual Webster definition, but what can you do?

Brian and I drove down to Phoenix on Saturday morning, and I will admit, I was insanely excited to spend 5 full hours with my husband without the possibility of firm phone calls and/or a screaming baby. We could actually talk! What would we talk about? It was like a date! Only in a car! And although we had to navigate through some dangerous territory (Hoover Dam, anyone?), it was a surprisingly scenic drive, resplendent with large rock formations and desert cacti. The Bear slept, Brian and I dined on Starbucks (skinny vanilla latte for him, regular drip with soy milk for me, muffins all around), and we talked as though we were a couple without kids. Which was refreshingly delicious.

We went to a Packer rally at a local Sports bar on Saturday night, and all of the green and gold made Brian almost giddy. It was cute to watch. This is a much-needed change from his demeanor earlier that afternoon when we were in Kingman, AZ. I seriously yelled at Brian for about 30 miles. Why? you ask. Well, let's just describe it like this: we had just pulled into a gas station. Brian got out to pump gas. I went inside to get drinks. While inside, I decided it would be prudent to also use the restroom. Upon leaving the restroom, I found a very nonchalant Brian standing next to the soda fountain selection, perusing the choices. Sans baby.

Let me say that again; Sans baby.

I gasped as soon as I saw him. "Where is the Bear?" I hissed.

He looked over at me. He gestured over his shoulder. "In the car. Totally asleep." He smiled confidently.

I about had a heart attack. I kid you not. I'm sure my posture dropped to crouch-like status and I immediately began running towards the car. "You can't do that!" I shrieked. "You CAN'T DO THAT!"

He caught me at the door. "What? Huh? He's fine."

I stuttered, barely able to contain my emotions. "No! You can't do that! He's not a DOG! People STEAL babies! Babies DIE in CARS! Go to the car! Go to the CAR!"

Brian hightailed it out of the gas station and with shaking hands, I purchased a water and a Gatorade. Shaking. Shaking.

And thus, for the next thirty miles, I berated Brian about how/why it is bad to leave a baby in the car. He honestly did not know he could not leave a baby in the car. In his defense, it's not like this is mentioned in any baby books. Nor had it been a topic of discussion between us, so...who knew? I think he got the point after the first .5 miles, but I continued for the next 25.5 for good measure. Needless to say, Brian will not be leaving the child in the car any time soon.

So, yeah, Packer rally on Saturday night. Again, when you have a baby with you, you don't get to drink beer and hang with the other Wisconsin folk. You don't get to stand in line to get signed souveniers from former Packer players. And with a baby, you eat as quickly as you can because your child has woken up and you know you are 2.1 seconds away from a total meltdown. Which is exactly what we did.

I am happy to report the Bear slept (!!) from 10pm until 7am on Saturday night. Mind you, our teeny-tiny bar area looked like this:

so it's not like we were living large. I washed bottles while Brian rocked the Bear to sleep. We had ordered a crib from the hotel (along with a room far, far away from other patrons) and it reminded us of an orphanage crib in Romaina. White bars, thin mattress, etc. Scotty looked so sad in it that I couldn't bring myself to take a picture, but it worked. He slept. God bless the sleeping baby.

Brian and I were seriously afraid to move after he fell asleep, and I must have woken about 10 times upon hearing the cries of the baby next door. Yes, some other couple must have asked for a room far, far away because they, too, had a sleep-striking infant. I didn't even want to cough out of fear of waking Scotty. Yet, miraculously, when I looked at my watch for the first time that morning, it read 7:04am. God bless us all. Scotty slept through the night in a different zip code.

And that football game we were supposed to attend? Practically an afterthought after a night of Sleepy Scotty. Let's just say it like this: I'm fairly certain we have traumatized Scotty to crazy people wearing red waving towels. The minute we sat down, I knew it was going to be a long day. He immediately looked around at the screaming Cardinal fans and began howling. The damn Cardinal fans wouldn't shut up (it was the National Anthem! Stop screaming! Your team isn't that good!) and I realized quickly that I would not be able to shush 90,000 fans, so I hightailed it out of the arena. Which began...the walking.

And more walking. And then...more walking.

I think I might be able to give Jillian Michaels a run for her money. Last-chance work-out? Yeah, try strapping a 20-lb infant to your body and climbing stadium stairs for two hours. Brian looked so cute and so happy in his seat (along with the other Packer fans that were in our row) that i couldn't bring myself to ask him to help out with the baby. And so, I accepted my lot in life: miss the entire time, tend to my child, and walk the Earth like Cain from Kung Fu. Or at least, University of Phoenix Stadium for four, long quarters. Oh, and let's not forget: overtime, too. Yeeeeeah, me.

On my second lap around the stadium, vendors started smiling at me. I stopped to chat with them. Ditto for security. And some other folks even found Scotty so cute that they asked me to pose for pictures for them. I felt like the Paris Hilton of the Packer game - I was a bona fide celebrity! People LOVED my baby. This was great! Nothing boosts a mood like some ego-stroking. Though it wasn't me that was generating the buzz, it was still fun to pose with the Bear. As long as we don't end up on some random website or Facebook page. (please keep an eye out for me.)

So, yeah, it was fun. I ate a soft pretzel while Scotty vomited on me. I grabbed a Coke during one of my laps and strongly considered doing leg lunges. It was like my own personal gym, but with yummy snacks. When the whole arena erupted into joyous celebration (thus confirming my fears that the Packers lost), I stood stoically by a large pillar and prayed the Bear and I didn't get trampled. We didn't. But we were greeted by a very sad, forelorn Brian carrying a diaper bag. He looked like someone just took his puppy. Poor guy. Needless to say, it was a quiet ride home.

And so, football season for our family is over. No more GanstaBoy standing hopefully on our doorstep, no more Sunday mornings with Uncle Jim (and Starbucks doughnuts!), and no more Scotty in his Packer onesie. Which, by the way, he fills in VERY well. Considering he started football season a mere 8-9lbs, he is pushing 20 at this point. Which, in my opinion, makes the whole season a success.

(**programming note: our trip to AZ will be reviewed in the next entry)

Ahh, I think we've all learned an important lesson after last night, hmm?

Beautiful people are not to be trusted.

Yes, it's a little harsh, but seriously - wow. That was definitely 'the most dramatic' cocktail party, ever. Poor Rozlyn got the boot for her alleged 'transgressions' (totally the new work for 2010. Thank you, Tiger) with a 'former' 'Bachelor' staffer. But was anyone even paying attention to (poor) Chris Harrison when he gave Rozlyn the 'most stern talking to' ever? I mean, Brian and I were both transfixed by her insane bone structure and perfect little nose. I've never seen cheekbones so high. I could have done without her hair-do (she was definitely trying to channel Betty Draper ala the Rome episode) but I will admit, I loved the sparkly dress. Both sparkly dresses, to be honest, but really the gold one hooked me. It had pockets! How can you not love a dress with pockets?

Oh, dear Rozlyn, I don't think we've seen the last of you, either. There is no way ABC is going to let the best villainess in prime time since Omarosa go that easily - it was only Episode 2! Which also begs the question -- what exactly did Rozlyn DO with the male staffer? They had only been living in the house for about three days...she moves fast. Like a black widow. Or a cougar.

Anyways, poor, sweet, golden retriever Jake did not take the news of Rozlyn's betrayal well. After all, he had given her the rose from the In-Style date. And yes, for anyone who cares, I totally sympathized with chunky-highlights-Christina who was clearly freaking out about the photo shoot. I mean, she is surrounded by models! Models! They are not human! And she has to compete against them? It's like a bad dream. Has everyone seen the 'Sex and the City' episode (Season One, I believe) 'Models and Mortals'? Carrie said it best: models give normal women socially imposed inferiority complexes. Period. They eat one lentil for lunch and are full. I can eat an entire turkey sandwich (which real mayo) in five bites (due to the baby) but am still hungry. I was never cut out to be a model, and poor Christina had to actually face off against PROFESSIONAL models in a photo shoot. No wonder she practically crawled into the tequila bottle by the time the date reached the pool. I would have, too. Did the producers dream this up just to terrorize us mortals? I think my palms were sweating just watching all of the size-2 ladies prance around. Oh, the horror, the horror.

Anyways, bathsuit-fears aside, Jake was gullible enough to give bikini-clad Rozlyn the rose because according to him, he was 'intrigued' by her. I asked Brian, who confirmed it: 'intrigued' is guy language for, "You're really hot and I would like to see you naked." I think this whole sequence also confirmed why Jake is still single: he goes for the Rozlyns (and Nanny Elizabeths, but more on her later) of the world, only to be devoured by her praying-mantis-like behavior. Jake is such a good (though) dull guy - he needs to find a lovely, nice, dull lady friend. Don't go for the women look like they kill their young. It just doesn't bode well for future happiness.

And as for lovely, dull ladies - my vote is for Ali. Yellow Ali, as Brian and I started calling her. Didn't she wear a yellow dress at the first cocktail party? Did she not bring anything else? Brian said it best - what if Jake doesn't like her in blue? We giggled for about 5 minutes after that one.

Yellow Ali and Dull Jake went on a not-so-dull date: Jake flew them to Palm Springs, they drove around in a vintage car, and then randomly, went running across a park to listen to the music of Chicago. Pretty cool, although 'You're my Inspiration' generated a ten-minute argument between Brian and I, as I tried to convince him that the song was used in one of the 'Karate Kid' movies. Brian, ultimately, was right, but the argument was only settled after googling 'Karate Kid Music' and I chair-danced to 'You're the Best!' Great movie, great soundtrack. Did I mention my brother-in-law is birthday twins with Ralph Macchio?

And speaking of music, how great was it when Jeffery Osbourne's 'On the Wings of Love' came blaring on while Ali and Jake were flying? We're also big fans of Joel McHale's 'The Soup' on E! and last week, they just had a field day with that song. I sang it all weekend, in fact. All the way to Arizona and back (much to Brian's chagrin). I can only imagine what the staffers at 'The Soup' are cooking up this week.

Back to the Bachelor. I will admit, Brian and I mentally tuned out for a little while during the whole cocktail-hour Rozlyn fiasco. (He had brought home Pull-and-Peel Twizzlers and we were busy playing with our food. "Look, I made the rope we climb in gym class," said Brian, as I tried feverishly to re-create Ali's diamond necklace in licorce form.) I mean, did we really need to watch RozlynGate from every side? Not to mention, why were the other girls crying when Chris Harrison told them Rozlyn was leaving? Ladies, your odds just improved! Probably the person who posed the greatest competition just made an insanely stupid decision and was just kicked off the show. Rejoice, don't tear up! It's not like someone just died. At least Crazy Michelle spoke up and (loudly) voiced her love for Jake directly after Chris Harrison's announcement. I think we all know Jake is NEVER going to pick her (clearly, the producers still want some kind of crazy in the house, so she was dragged into next week) but Brian and I agreed that she would make an awesome Bachelorette. Giving her that kind of power? She would go nuts! It was would be ratings gold. She would probably make the men do all kinds of crazy stuff, like bleed for her to prove their love. ABC, are you listening?

Anyways, I was bummed to see Chunky Highlights and Ashley the Flight Attendant leave. Nanny Elizabeth, ye of the shiny hair and teeny-tiny printing, is playing the game extremely well. The whole 'Don't kiss me until I'm the final girl' ploy? Genius. And again, Golden Retriever Jake loves games. You could practically see his tail wagging when they were watching the fireworks together. ::sigh::

Tenley didn't get much face time this week, and neither did a bunch of women whose names I didn't even know until they received a rose. I had forgotten about Ella (bad dress), Corrie (Kori?), Jessi (who the hell is Jessi?) and that tall, dark-haired girl. Is ABC trying to set this up so we don't get to know his final pick until later in the season? Who knows. But I did love Tenley's very-real tears for Jake upon hearing of Rozlyn's betrayal - "I was betrayed, too!" she sobbed to the cameras. Ahh, poor Tenley. Hopefully Jake takes her and Yellow Ali to the finals. At least those two appear to have souls.

I've been such a bad blogger lately...it seems like (for the hundredth time, I'll say it) time is flying...on the wings of love? (::giggle::) No, it's just really moving quickly. Between the Bear, house-hunting, pumping, and football games in Arizona (yes, you read that correctly), I can't keep straight what day it is.

Ahem...yes, we shall be traveling this weekend. Because Scotty did such a great job in Indiana (snort), we decided to chance it again and take him to Phoenix for the Packers/Cardinals game. Actually, the conversation went something like this:

B: I'd like to go the playoff game this weekend. K: Please don't leave me alone with our sleep-striking child. B: I'll take him with meK: Really? (seriously contemplates this) But what would he eat?B: Pretzels? Beer?K: I'm coming with you. Get the car seat.

And thus, it was determined that we, as a family, will be making the trek through the desert to the University of Phoenix Stadium. I mean, the last time we went to Phoenix, it was nothing short of a disaster. It was September (which means the temperature hovered right around 115 degrees), our tickets in the then-outdoor-stadium were directly in the sun, the concession stand ran out of water, and someone, who shall go nameless (::cough, cough, PURPLE, cough, cough::) left her purse in the ladies room and almost had a panic attack and died. And then we almost missed our plane. Ahh, family fun.

This time, however, we vow to make it different. For one, Brian and I are now seasoned travelers with the Bear. I am anticipating he will not sleep. Likewise, I have already requested a room at the hotel far from other guests. I also have a car adapter for my pump (woot! Thanks, Court) so I can pump in the car and travel with ease. And of course, let us not forget what Phoenix is home to: Chick-Fil-A, aka Brian's favorite restaurant. And so, I have no doubt that I will be sleep-deprived and exhausted by the time I heft the 20-lb child in the Baby Bjorn (shout out to my own personal Babies-R-Us - Courtney again!), but at least I have a cute Aaron Rodgers jersey to wear under it.

So be sure to look for us on TV! I have no doubt, too, that Scotty's adorable mug will likely be featured on the Jumbo-Tron, thus jumpstarting his baby modeling career. My only regret is that we don't have a wee cheesehead for him to wear...